


losing by degrees

by Areiton



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [8]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Infinity Stones, M/M, Mute Peter Parker, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Stephen Strange is a good friend, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He looks around, and Strange’s grip on him tightens, so slightly he doesn’t even realize it. “Where is he?”The Avengers are all here--Loki clasped in Thor’s shaking embrace, Sam quiet and too close to Bucky, both avoiding Cap’s gaze. Wanda is there, a gaping hole near her where Vision should be.They got themback, Tony thinks, giddily, tears stinging in his eyes. And the calculations he and Bruce had played with worked, Lang got them back and brought themhere.So--“Where is he?” Tony demands again, shriller this time.Tony Stark Bingo R5: Fix It





	losing by degrees

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post this before Endgame released and I _barely_ missed that but tomorrow is the official release day so here. Have a fix it, and hopefully if the movie breaks our hearts, this will ease the pain a bit. 
> 
> Heads up that Peter is voluntarily mute in this and Tony has (per usual) shitty coping mechanisms. There's your word of wording.

When they undo it, and get back everyone Thanos took--the first thing Tony does is punch Strange in the jaw. 

“You  _ bastard,” _ he chokes, and Strange gives him this  _ look _ , like he understands, some, what Tony is feeling. 

The desperate clawing panic that took him when they crumbled away, the same thing that’s kept him company in all the time since, while those left behind fought and prayed and gambled. 

He looks around, and Strange’s grip on him tightens, so slightly he doesn’t even realize it. “Where is he?” 

The Avengers are all here--Loki clasped in Thor’s shaking embrace, Sam quiet and too close to Bucky, both avoiding Cap’s gaze. Wanda is there, a gaping hole near her where Vision should be. 

They got them  _ back _ , Tony thinks, giddily, tears stinging in his eyes. And the calculations he and Bruce had played with worked, Lang got them back and brought them  _ here. _

So--

“Where is he?” Tony demands again, shriller this time, and he sees Loki stir in Thor’s arms, pull away from the god. 

“Stephen--” 

“Hush, Mischief,” Strange murmurs, and it registers as odd. Distantly, so distantly, it registers as odd. 

Because panic is clawing in again. 

They got them  _ back.  _

_ Everyone.  _

Except there’s a empty space at his side, and a crumbling weight in his arms and ash choking him. 

His voice sounds like a scream when he demands, once more,  _ “Where is Peter?”  _

 

~*~

 

It went like this: 

Thanos undid half the population of the universe. 

He stole billions. 

And Tony  _ didn’t care. _

He wanted it undone, wanted to drag Thanos into the dirt and beat him bloody, until he was nothing but so much crushed meat--but it wasn’t for the universe. 

It wasn’t even for his team. 

It was for a boy, just one, who stared at him with terrified brown eyes and begged to be saved. 

He didn't want to save the world this time. He just wanted Peter back. 

Now--staring at the world he almost died ( _ again _ ) to save, it feels like a cruel kind of irony, the sickest joke. 

Because he did it. They did it. And Strange is looking at him, the same patient, too knowing look that he gave Tony before he crumbled away on Titan, and he  _ knows _ what it means,  _ knows.  _

FRIDAY has been scanning the billions they Restored since Tony came out of the sedation Cap forced on him when Tony realized that the boy wasn’t there. 

“Any luck?” 

“No, Boss,” she says, and he hates the distress in her voice. 

Hates her for not actually feeling that distress. 

“Tony,” Strange says, “you need to trust me.” 

Tony laughs. 

It’s the first time in longer than he can remember, and it feels like glass cutting his throat. “Last time I trusted you, he died in my arms,” he spits and takes a vindictive sort of pleasure in the flinch that Strange gives him. 

“He’s not dead,” Loki says and Tony’s eyes narrow, watching the trickster approaching Strange.

“Loki,” the Sorcerer sighs. “We talked about this.” 

“Yes, and I disagreed with you,” Loki snaps. 

Tony, his patience, already thin and frayed, snaps, “ _ Explain.”  _

 

~*~

 

The world didn’t recover from the Snap well. 

There was grief, of course, but there was more than that--there was fury. 

Earth was hurting, half of its inhabitants dusted into nothing and of those who weren’t, another three percent were killed immediate aftermath. Within twenty four hours, fifty three percent of the world was  _ dead _ , and the remaining forty-seven were  _ furious.  _

There was rage at the governments who did nothing, trusting a handful of superheros to save the world again. 

Rage at the super heroes who  _ didn’t _ . 

Rage at the ones who lived and rage at the ones who died, and in the end--the world tore itself apart. 

Thanos killed half the universe to create a utopia and Tony isn’t sure how it shook out on other planets--but by the time he and Nebula limped back to earth, the chaotic anarchy that greeted him resembled a dystopia far more than anything else. 

They lost. 

They were still losing, by slow degrees. 

 

~*~

 

Loki explains, in fits and starts, with Strange filling in gaps and snapping at him. 

The dynamic is strange, something Tony  _ recognizes _ but can’t really wrap his head around. Because what it boils down to is--they killed Thanos. 

They did--Strange and Loki and Peter, his brave beautiful boy. 

Because Thanos didn’t kill half of the universe. He stole them, tucked them in a pocket reality and spun out a life where Titan was still whole and happy and his daughter played at his feet. 

He stole them and built the world he wanted, and it might have worked, if Peter and Strange and Loki had been alone. 

But they weren’t. 

They were together, when they died, Peter and Strange, and they woke together. They found Loki and dragged him along to kill a god. 

“We had to take the stones,” Loki says. “But it wasn’t just that--we were in his reality, and we had to break that. Had to rewrite the time we were gone, and restore the souls trapped by Thanos--we couldn’t just destroy them, you understand?”

Tony stares at him, at the pleading in Loki’s eyes and the resignation in Strange’s. 

“What--what are you saying?” 

“Someone,” Strange says, bluntly, “had to wield the stones. Someone had to take their power, and rewrite what Thanos did, while you and the other survivors did your part to bring us back.” 

“Someone,” Tony says, thickly. “Peter. You mean  _ Peter.”  _

Strange nods, and Tony crumples.   

 

~*~

 

It goes like this, for a long time--

Tony drinks. 

He drinks because being sober means realizing that his kid, his  _ Peter _ sacrificed himself for the whole goddamn universe, and that was never what Tony wanted. 

He drinks because if he doesn’t, he has to watch Cap with Bucky, coaxing him back to life, has to watch the whole world coming back to life, and he can’t fucking handle that. 

He  _ likes _ the anarchy, likes the distrust and hate and rage that seethe just below the surface. 

People don’t trust the governments and they don’t trust the Avengers, and most don’t trust  _ him _ , but they’ll take his free power and his free food, they’ll take the water purifiers that Peter helped him design and they’ll survive. 

After everything Peter gave to give them that chance, Tony feels like helping them is the very least he can do. 

So he drinks, and he watches the newly restored to life world leaders scramble to put their shit together. 

Strange searches. 

Tony thinks he should probably feel guilt that he isn’t helping but then again, Tony is drunk enough that he barely registers the idea that he  _ should _ feel guilty. 

 

~*~

 

“He wouldn’t want you to be like this,” Strange tells him one night, when he arrives in the Tower and finds Tony, messy drunk on the couch. 

“You don’t get to talk about him,” Tony slurs, his glare lacking any heat and that’s the real crime here. 

“You aren’t the only one who lost him, Stark,” Strange snarls, and his expression--fuck. 

Even drunk, Tony recognizes that look. That look--he’s seen it in the mirror, staring helpless and fond at Peter as he clung to Tony’s back, sleepy and pliant. 

He knows that look, knows what love looks like. 

“You--” Tony stumbles and Strange looks away. 

“I want to bring him home, too,” he says, tight and angry and Tony doesn’t have a chance to answer, before he’s stepping into nothing and away. 

 

~*~

 

“You’e leaving,” Tony says. 

Strange is standing nearby, and he thinks it’s strange, that these two have become his near constant companions since the Restoration. 

“I can’t leave him here, Stark,” Thor says, his voice soft in a way it never was, before. “Both of them, all of you--your letting Peter destroy you.” 

“I won’t stop searching,” Loki snarls, and Thor tucks the raging god to his side, grief in his eyes. 

“Go,” Tony says, but it’s not as angry as he expected. It’s just  _ tired. _

Thor’s eyes are sad and his grip on his brother tight, as they go. 

 

~*~

 

He goes back to his lab. 

It’s dusty and still, the way that makes his skin crawl because his labs are never quiet, not like this. Even the bots are quiet and it aches in his gut, because this--this isn’t right. 

The lab was always alive and noisy, filled with Peter’s quiet mutters and excited yelps, with Tony’s music and the whirring of the bots. 

It was the place that felt most like home, the place he always knew he could do anything, and now--now it’s quiet and empty, almost tomblike and it feels like a slap in the face, like he’s given up on the boy he swore he’d never give up on. 

“FRIDAY,” he breathes, and the lights come up. DUM-E whirs softly in the corner, trundling across the lab to pick at his pants inquisitively. 

“Boss?” FRIDAY ask and Tony straightens his shoulders. 

“Let’s create a search algorithm, ok?”  

 

~*~

 

There are refugees living in the Tower now. He threw open the doors when he first got back, when he realized just how bad things had gotten in New York. Rhodey had been concerned, and Steve waa furious--but there was power and safety and  _ food _ at the tower. 

The lack of trust the world at large seemed to have for the Avengers and Tony didn't matter in the face of anarchy and starvation. They came in droves, glaring and cursing him and taking his food and shelter. 

He couldn't blame them. He cursed himself. 

Sometimes, he goes down and wanders among them. Sometimes, when he does, he sees Strange, moving through the crowded halls, passing out medicine and caring for the injured, as best he can. He never acknowledges Tony, when he does that--and Tony never acknowledges him. 

There is one place, amongst the refugees, that Tony likes to go, where no one glares and spits at him, where he is met with wide smiles and trusting eyes. 

The fifth floor is set aside aside for children. And sometimes, he goes and sits with them because they have no one left, and so much of the time, Tony feels the same way. 

 

~*~

 

Nebula is strange. 

Alien and  _ other _ in a way that can’t be denied and it sets others on edge. The Guardians, Restored now, and still grieving Gamora’s death, don’t trust her. 

The Avengers don’t know her, and don’t care enough to get to know her, wrapped up as they are with their own world and it’s mountain of problems. 

Tony watches her sometimes, sitting in his lab with DUM-E and Butterfingers, and thinks she’s the loneliest creature in the universe. 

Still. 

She saved him, in space, and he saved her, and they understand each other. 

“Do you miss space?” he asks one day. She looks at him, her gaze curious and detached--that strange balance she does so well. 

“I miss my sister,” she says, simply. 

And it is, he thinks. 

They are all of them defined by what they miss and cannot recover--space is  _ there _ , she could have it, if she wanted. One day, she will. 

Gamora--

Gamora is gone, and never coming back. 

On his worst days, Tony thinks Peter is too.  

 

~*~

 

He didn’t have time, really, to miss Peter. Not while they scrambled to get off Titan, and not on the mad, desperate, almost fatal rush back to earth. 

Not in the months after they returned, when everything was pushed away by the need to  _ fix it, _ when the world spun on, ash and dust, and an endless race to undo everything Thanos did. 

But there’s time now. 

And that ache, the sharp stabbing pain of his absence--it’s inescapable. 

He told Peter, once, that if Peter died, it would be on him. 

He didn’t mean for those words to be prophetic. He didn’t know Peter, then--not really. He knew the boy he’d dragged into his fight with the Cap, he knew the eager to please kid with a hero complex that was so like Rogers and so different--Rogers was a hero complex with a moral superiority and righteous fury. Peter--Peter just wanted to  _ help _ . He was pure in a way none of them were, and brilliant. 

So fucking brilliant it made Tony’s heart pound. Peter kept up with him the way only Bruce ever had, the way the little Wakanda princess can. 

He misses him most, when he’s in his lab, and the bots are whirring for his attention, and FRIDAY plays his music, and there is no bright smile, no curious eyes, no chirpy  _ hey, Mr. Stark, _ while he greeted the bots with affectionate pets. 

He misses Peter, a constant ache that makes it hard to breath, hard to eat, hard to sleep, hard to  _ exist.  _

Sometimes he thinks he shouldn’t, if Peter doesn’t.

He should be here, and he isn’t, and it sits like a rock, hard and painful, in his gut, and his throat, and his heart. 

 

~*~

 

“Boss, the scan is finished,” FRIDAY says one day, while he’s sitting with the orphans. He nods, and finishes the story he’s reading, before he quietly slips away. They fall on Nebula in his absence, something he knows still baffles the girl. 

Still. She lets them drag her down, her stern expression melting into something soft and almost warm, and he smiles as he goes to the lab. 

The scan is waiting. 

It took them almost a month. It wasn’t enough, to search for Peter’s DNA signature. It needed to cover every possibility--needed to search for his spider mutation, and the signature of Titan on his body, the stones and the shadow realm. 

It had to try  _ everything _ because nothing they were trying was working. 

He’d asked for Loki and Strange’s help, but Thor refused to let him near Loki, firm in his apologies. “It’s not good for him,” he said, almost sad. 

“He’s  _ here,”  _ Tony had snarled, incandescent in his rage and Thor had met it levelly. 

“And if your Spider was--would you risk him to find my brother?” 

It stopped Tony in his tracks, just as Thor knew it would. He’d given Tony one final look of sorrow and left. 

“Don’t blame him,” Strange said, and Tony choked on his laughter. “Loki only found the shadow realm because of stones. The one--it’s very fond of him.” 

Tony stared at him, and Strange huffed. “Loki wasn’t killed by Thanos’ Snap. He shouldn’t have been Restored--Gamora wasn’t. The Space Stone saved him. And Thor knows his brother being alive is a miracle. You cannot ask him to risk that.” 

“I  _ am _ asking.” 

Strange studied him. “Let me help instead.” 

Tony wasn’t turning away help, not from the wizard, not from anyone. They built the scan. 

“You know it might not work,” Strange says from behind him as Tony turns it on. 

He does know. The scan will only find Peter if Peter is alive and on earth to be found. 

“It will,” he says.  _ It has to.  _

 

~*~

 

FRIDAY runs the scan three times a day. 

No matter where he is in the tower, he knows when it starts--the lights flicker, the massive engine powering the scan yanking hard on the power of the arc reactor. 

His heart thumps, hard and uneven, in answer to those flickering lights, before he forces his attention back to whatever he’s using to occupy himself. 

Sometimes it’s meetings. Sometimes, it’s the kids. 

Sometimes, it’s just booze and his memories, and his open, sad lab. 

Tony tries not to think too much about how much those days would disappoint Peter, or, how, as time passes and the scan finds nothing--those nights turn up more and more. 

“You knew it would take time,” Strange murmurs, one night, when FRIDAY comes back with the familiar, disheartening,  _ scan negative, boss.  _

“It doesn’t make it easier,” Tony says, and Strange nods. 

Tony looks at him, this man who had Peter when he didn’t, who came back without him, and asks, one of two questions he’s never let himself ask. “Was he--in the other realm. Was he scared?” 

_ I don’t wanna go. Please, Mr. Stark.  _

Strange shakes his head. “No. For a long time--time moved differently, there. But for a long time, he was happy. We all were. None of us realized what had happened.” 

He  _ was _ happy. He isn’t, not now. It burns, a brand of pain he can’t assuage, but he asks, “What changed?” 

Strange stares at him, his eyes bright and intent. “He remembered you.” 

 

~*~

 

"We can't house them indefinitely," Steve says. 

"What are you suggesting?" Tony asks, mildly. He's sober and shaved, and his eyes are bright and alert, not shadowed and searching.

Steve watches him for a long moment, and then, "We need to move them out of the city. Resettle them in the country, on land they can farm. They'll be closer to self-sustaining, if we do that." 

"That works, for some of them--but what about the children." 

Steve is quiet for a long time, and then, Nat says, cautiously, "We think each family sent to the farms should take one of the orphans." 

Tony stops breathing. His hands clench, and for a moment, he wishes he was wearing the suit he hasn't put on since Titan. "You don't know if these families are good people, you don't know anything about them." 

"Tony," Steve starts. 

"No. Absolutely fucking not. The kids stay," he snaps, cutting Captain Fucked Up Ideas off cold. 

"That's not sustainable," Steve says, gently. 

"Fuck sustainable," Tony spits, furious. His heart is pounding and all he can think is *Peter would be one of those children. "You are not giving  _ children _ to random strangers who could  _ hurt _ them." 

"Then what do you want to do with them?" Bucky asks, and he isn't agreeing with Steve. He's calm, quiet. Actively curious. 

The problem is--Tony doesn't know. 

He doesn't know what to do anymore. 

 

~*~

 

It's Loki who figures it out. He comes to Earth with Thor, and his eyes are almost normal, that wildness and manic fear bled away into something that's almost content. He clings to Strange, though, when the wizards steps out of a portal and opens his arms, his thin frame shaking. 

"Hush, now, Mischief," Strange murmurs. 

"You promised," Loki says, muffled, and Tony's heart jerks, hard, because he wants to know what that means, what Strange promised. 

"I did. And I never lied to you. Trust me?" 

Loki stares at him and some of the tension drains out of him. 

He looks at Tony and his gaze is bright and hopeful. "Thor said something about you having a problem with too many children?" 

That's how he ends up on the fifth floor, watching helplessly as Loki sits on the ground, a baby asleep against his shoulder, three children in his lap and another tucked against his side. A little girl with golden brown curls hangs on his back, her grin wide and eager and painful to watch. 

"He's very good with kids," Tony says, startled. He'd never considered that Thor's power mad baby brother might have more than just that particular description hidden in his black and green depths. 

"He loves them," Thor says, his voice thick. "He will be a fine mother, one day." 

Tony very deliberately doesn't answer that particular rejoiner, and is ridiculously grateful when Loki walks up, the baby still sleeping against his shoulder. 

"Send them to the same farm. Let them run it. There's enough older children, and you can send some of your people up for a while, until they're settled." 

Tony stares at the god of mischief and wonders if it can be that easy. 

 

~*~

 

He finds Nebula in the cockpit of their spaceship. 

It is theirs, cobbled together by desperation and bastardized tech, by nanites from his suit and parts Nebula couldn’t really give up but  _ did. _

They survived, because surviving was the only way to save the ones they loved. 

He hates this fucking ship, has avoided it in all the long months since they limped off and into the arms of the remaining Avengers. 

And now, Nebula is standing here, a small kit bag at her feet, her eyes shining with something Tony isn’t ready to see. 

She doesn’t say anything--she doesn’t need to. He knows what it’s like, to run from your feelings, to run from what hurt. 

“You can’t go,” he says, and she laughs. 

It’s wet and hurt and it makes him ache, to hear. 

“There’s nothing for me here, Stark.” 

“There’s less for you out there,” he points out, and it’s cruel. He knows it’s cruel--he just doesn’t care. 

He needs her to stay. 

He already lost Peter, lost Pepper--he can’t lose Nebula too. 

“Stay,” he says, his voice a whisper, and she stares at him.

“I’m leaving, one day, Stark. You know that.” 

He does. 

He knows. 

But it doesn’t have to be today. 

She sighs, and follows him off the ship and back into the Compound. 

 

~*~

 

Sometimes, he sits in his lab, and watches the blue and red sensor sweeping the planet. 

He watches, and he aches, for what he can’t have. 

Steve says Peter is gone, that the search algorithm is draining precious resources. Tony doesn’t argue with him--can’t argue with him. He’s  _ right _ . They can’t afford the scans. 

Tony answers that concern by building three arc reactors to power buildings around the city, and introduces Bruce’s new strain of grain DNA. 

Loki and Thor arrive with food, and Quill and his Guardians bring in supplies from nearby galaxies. 

It’s all a stop gap, and he knows it--but any stop gap buys him time to keep searching. 

Rebuilding the world doesn’t matter, not if they can’t bring Peter home. 

“Am I being selfish?” he asks Strange one night, when he’s not nearly as drunk as he wants to be. 

It’s been three months since the Restoration and Peter--Peter is still gone. 

He’s beginning to wonder if Steve is right. 

“He sacrificed everything to save all of us and you’re trying to do the same. It’s not selfish--but I don’t know if it’ll work,” Strange says, that familiar bluntness that Tony loves and hates. 

“Why him?” Tony asks, and it’s desperate, and sad, and he hates himself for asking. 

Strange sighs, and shakes his head. “Because the Stones chose him.” 

 

~*~

 

It’s a Thursday, a quiet rainy morning five months after the Restoration. Tony is looking over reports on the Orphan’s farm, and tweaking some plans about security when the lights flicker and surge, and his heart does too. 

He forces his breathing to stay steady, and finishes reviewing the plans with a hand that only barely shakes. 

“Sir,” FRIDAY cuts through his concentration, and he frowns. There won’t be enough room for growth, if they don’t remove that field on the west end and build more dormitories. And growth is important, they’re--

“ _ Boss,” _ FRIDAY almost shouts, and it jerks Tony’s attention up. 

The lights are dim, dimmer than they should be and FRIDAY’s voice is sharp and excited in a way he didn’t program her to be. “Scan positive.” 

 

~*~

 

He calls Strange who summons Loki, and they gather around the display, a creature of magic, a man of science, and a being who managed to be both. 

The little red icon blinks, steady and slow, and Tony feels like his heartbeat is slowing to match it, like it  _ knows _ Peter is on the other end of that blinking icon. 

“Strange,” Loki whispers, his eyes locked on the icon, his hands trembling. “Tell him.” 

 

~*~

 

“The Stones fought Thanos,” Strange says. His eyes are wary and distant, and Tony wants to walk away from this conversation, wants to go find  _ Peter _ , but Loki spelled the Tower, so he couldn’t leave and that was that. “They didn’t want him as a master. They  _ never _ wanted a  _ master. _ ” 

“You talk about them like they’re sentient.” 

Strange inclines his head. “They were.”

The stones, Strange explains in fits and starts, rebelled against Thanos, fought his control, reaching for anyone else. 

They found Peter. A boy that was pure enough to pull the Soul stone, who Loki adore and Strange trusted, and Tony Stark loved--something the Stones noticed and knew. They remembered their previous masters, remembered the creatures they had been held by--and they saw a boy, a boy who sang to the Soul stone, and so many one-time masters loved, and they turned to him. 

The other two followed where the four led, and when Peter reached for them--they fell into him. 

“Not a weapon, Tony. Not a gauntlet, like Thanos used.” 

Tony stares at Strange, at Loki. Even  _ Loki  _ could only wield the Stone when it was housed in the Tesseract. 

“What did he use? To house them,” he demands, almost begs, and Strange looks at him, unfathomably sad. 

“ _ Peter _ housed them.” 

 

~*~

 

Tony steps out of the portal, and he isn’t sure what he’s expecting. 

He doesn’t know what it means, what Strange said. Loki said the stones were part of Peter, the way the Mind Stone had been part of Vision. 

He doesn’t want to think about how that could change the boy he lost, the boy he loved. 

Strange steps after him, and the portal closes, leaving them in the dim darkness of a deserted school. 

“FRIDAY,” Tony calls. 

“Down the hall--third room on the right, boss,” she says, immediately. 

Tony sees him first. 

For a moment--looking at the curve of his slumped shoulders, the shaggy familiar hair--for a moment, he thinks  _ it’s ok. _

“Pete?” he says, and Loki makes a noise, low and indistinct. 

And he  _ flares _ , a dazzling array of colors skating under his skin, the room almost blindingly bright. 

Strange curses, and the boy throws himself through the window, and Tony--

Tony throws himself right after him. 

He realizes, a moment too late, that he’s not wearing a suit. 

He’s three stories up and not wearing a suit and he hears an exasperated huff, before he’s jerked up and into strong arms. 

For a moment, he’s close and Peter is frowning at him, worry in his ancient, shifting eyes. 

For a moment, the world is right. 

“Hi, Pete,” he breathes. 

 

~*~

 

They take him home. 

He fights it--but it’s half hearted, digging his feet in, pulling against their touch, but never with all of his strength, and Loki says something, too low for Tony to hear, and it makes all the fight drain out of him, makes Peter slump next to the god and follow along, docile at his side. He stays close to Loki, and sometimes, his gaze will flick to Strange, like he’s reassuring himself. Sometimes his fingers twitch and Tony thinks he’s a hairs breath from flinging himself away. 

He is careful to avoid Tony’s gaze, to keep two or three bodies between them, and Tony tries not to let that sting. 

 

~*~

 

In the Tower, Strange and Loki whisk Peter away, murmuring low and quiet to him and Tony watches his shoulders slump in what looks like relief as he goes, strange and somehow not, between them. 

“They’ll take care of him,” Thor says, and his brow is furrowed, worry glinting in his eyes. “Loki--he has not been the same, since he came back. Part of him was still with your Spider.” 

“I don’t think any of are the same.” 

Thor nods, accepting that. “It’s different, though. Loki is different. In the same way that Strange is--in the same way you are. Losing young Peter broke something in all of you.” 

Tony doesn’t argue that. 

He can’t. 

It’s the truth. 

 

~*~

 

“He’s different.” 

Strange is never going to sugar coat anything for him, Tony thinks and nods once. “Peter is--he won’t speak. And he is very afraid.” 

“Won’t speak?” Tony echoes, not quite sure how to reconcile his Peter, with the snark and sass and babble with silence. 

“He can speak, Tony,” Strange says. “When he’s ready--he will.” 

Tony doesn’t ask--what if he’s never ready. 

He doesn’t think he wants to hear Strange’s too blunt answer. 

 

~*~

 

Peter is like a ghost, haunting the Tower. There are signs of him--cups of abandoned coffee, bowls of cereal, bits of spiderwebs in the corners of the ceilings, a trace of magic in the air like ozone--but never anything Tony can  _ see _ , nothing he can touch and hold and reassure himself is real. 

He knows Peter is there, knows it in the smile and lightness in Loki and the way the lines around Strange’s eyes and mouth ease with every passing day. 

But he never  _ sees _ the boy, and he thinks maybe that is worse. 

 

~*~

 

He has nightmares. Most nights--but some nights, he doesn’t ever truly wake from them. 

Some nights, he hovers between nightmares of Titan and ash and a high frantic begging, and here, the Tower, the quiet of his room. 

Some nights, he almost feels a hand, brushing through his hair, and lips, impossibly soft, against his skin, and he thinks--this isn’t real. 

But it isn’t a nightmare, either. 

He hears,  _ shh. Shh. shh.  _ And then sleep claims him again. 

 

~*~

 

“He’s staying, Tony. I know you want more--” 

“I want  _ him _ ,” Tony snaps. “I want him  _ back.”  _

“And he is. As much as he can be--Peter is back. He’s just--different.” 

“I don’t mind different,” Tony says, because he doesn’t. He’s different. Losing Peter,  _ losing _ , it changed him. 

It changed the whole world. 

“I just--I want him to come home.” 

Loki shifts, draws closer to Tony and his eyes are soft, soft. “He’s here. He’s staying. Not with Strange in the Sanctum or me in New Asgard--he is here, in your tower. Because you are.” 

Tony looks at him, and Loki smiles, gentle, small, and reassuring. He didn’t know Loki could smile like that. “He isn’t running from you, Tony. Trust him to come in his own time.” 

 

~*~

 

Sometimes, the silence in his lab thickens, and he won’t look up, but he’ll  _ feel _ Peter, sitting in a corner. He doesn’t know what to do in those moments. He doesn’t want to scare him away, is almost too terrified to look at him, and he  _ wants _ with a visceral fierceness, a sharpness so sudden it makes his breath catch and his eyes sting. 

Peter doesn’t ever say anything. He doesn’t think Peter has said anything since they found him in that dirty hovel--certainly not to Tony.  

But he sits there, in his quiet corner, and he  _ watches _ and Tony is grateful for it, so grateful he doesn’t even mind that Peter is silent. 

And when he begins to speak. When he talks about Nebula and the orphans, about the months in space and the endless months trying to undo the Snap. When he whispers about his nightmares and regrets and shouts at the bots and mumbles equations and argues with Steve--Peter listens. 

He stays in his corner, in his quiet, but when Tony dares to look at him--Peter stares back, a tiny smile on his lips, and he listens. 

 

~*~

 

Peter likes to go down to where the orphans are. 

When he can be coaxed out of the penthouse and the rooms he hides away in, when he isn’t in the labs watching Tony--it’s there that he can be found. Curled in a corner of a couch, three children piled on him, his hands tucked into oversize sweatshirts Tony recognizes from his own closet. He sits there, and they play with his hair and whisper to him and he smiles, a loose familiar smile that makes Tony hope. 

Sometimes, when he goes down, Tony finds Loki there, weaving stories and illusions and multi-colored lights dazzle the children while Peter watches, indulgent and happiness shining in his ancient eyes. 

Sometimes, he goes and finds them all asleep, piled on him like so many puppies and the air ripples with recognition when Tony gets too close and he thinks--these are Peter’s. His lost little children, and he will protect them.

With all of his immense power, Tony knows he will protect them. 

And he thinks--while Peter blinks up at him sleepily from under three toddlers, a gentle smile on his lips--he thinks, maybe he is Peter’s too. Claimed and kept and protected. 

 

~*~

 

The world keeps turning. The world keeps turning and Peter keeps to himself, keeps silent. He visits the orphans and watches Tony and the power of the Stones plays under his skin, untapped and unchecked and the world keeps falling apart. 

Tony knows what will happen. Even before it does, because he  _ knows _ Steve. 

“We have to think about what we’re doing,” Steve says. “We have to think about the long game.” 

Tony barely holds in his snarl at that word, the sharp spike of fury he feels at being a pawn in another game. 

“He can help, Tony.” 

“We aren’t using Peter,” Tony says, his voice hard and brooking no argument. 

Steve’s lips are tight and Barnes touches his wrist, a light, fleeting touch that draws him away and silences the fighting for the moment. 

He isn’t stupid, though. He knows it’s not the end of things.

 

~*~

 

Strange is in his kitchen, making tea. It no longer even surprises him to see the wizard there. At least this time he’s in jeans and a long sleeve shirt and not that damn robe and cloak. 

Peter sits nearby, hands cradling his own steaming mug, eyes unnaturally bright as he watches the Sorcerer. 

“We need to talk,” Strange says and Tony frowns, glancing at Peter, who has gone still and tense. 

“Rogers--” 

His gut drops and rage flares in it’s place and he snarls. “ _ No.”  _

“This is bigger than you or me, or even Peter,” Strange says, and he’s tired. He sounds so  _ tired. _

They saved the world, they all did, and they gave up so fucking  _ much _ to do it--when did they get to stop. When was it enough. He closes his eyes. “The world needs this,” Strange says. 

“You aren’t using Peter,” Tony says, dully. Shocked he even has to say it. “Not like that. Not ever. He isn’t your fucking  _ tool.”  _

“Have you even asked him, if he wants to do this?” Strange asks, and Peter sitting on the counter with his tea suddenly makes sense. 

He hates Strange, a little, in that moment. 

Hates him for being a manipulative bastard, and hates him for putting them both in this position. 

He hates him and he knows what the answer will be. 

 

~*~

 

Tony remembers the first time he heard about the Infinity Stones. He was on a helicarrier with a man who should be dead, a femme fatale, a Norse god from outer space, and a timid scientist with rage problems. 

He misses the days when his life was that normal. 

“It’s simply a matter of remaking reality. Not all of it--just a piece.” 

Peter looks at Strange, and his eyes are ancient and trusting and young, and he glances at Tony, almost like he’s looking for reassurance. Steve is there, waiting, arms crossed, hopeful. Loki leans against the counter with Thor pressed a step too close. There’s an air of hopefulness, thick waiting and anxiety, and Tony knows, he  _ knows _ that even if this is the right thing for the rest of the world, it’s the wrong thing for Peter. 

He puts down his coffee and steps over, steps into Peter’s space for the first time since they brought him home, and Peter’s hands--small and delicate and strong--come up to wrap in his shirt, holding him back, holding him close. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs and Peter’s eyes widen. “We’ll find another way. I’m working on smart seeds, baby, you don’t  _ have _ to do this.” 

The room is quiet, silent, tense. 

Peter watches him, big beautiful eyes bright and intent, and then--he smiles. 

He looks past Tony, and meets Strange’s gaze, and nods. 

His grip on Tony never loosens. 

 

~*~

 

He has nightmares, sometimes. 

More nights than he likes to think about, he wakes screaming, and all he can do is grasp at the empty bedsheets and feel the dust on his fingers, his lips, burning in his eyes. 

Peter finds him some nights, finds him sitting in the dark living room with Nebula, and his eyes are gentle as he takes the Scotch and his fingers are solid as they wrap around Tony’s and his skin is warm when he curls close. 

It’s not enough. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget this boy, this precious boy, turning into nothing in his arms. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever dream, and not hear his voice, panicked and terrified and begging him to fix it. 

But he holds onto Peter and Nebula watches them both, and the night passes. 

The sun always rises.

 

~*~ 

 

Things don’t get better overnight. 

But sometimes, Peter will go with Strange and Loki, will walk barefoot in the dusty dead fields, and FRIDAY will murmur about power spikes, and Tony will  _ feel  _ it, the power of the stones rippling and rewriting everything that Thanos destroyed. 

“Why not do it all at once?” Steve asks once, watching Peter coming back, feet heavy and tripping as he stumbles between Lokii and Strange, and Nebula scoffs. 

“That only causes new problems, Captain. Did Thanos teach you nothing?” 

Steve looks at her, eyes wide and startled and she looks almost like she pities him. “You cannot fix something by destroying a part of it. Thanos destroyed half the universe to save it. And that almost destroyed what he left behind.” 

“Peter--” 

“Peter coaxes. He heals. The stones aren’t going to be used for destruction, not ever again,” Tony murmurs. “Peter would never allow it.” 

Peter glances up at him, and he smiles. 

“That’s why they chose him,” he murmurs and for the first time since before the Snap--he feels like he can breath. 

 

~*~

 

The world turns. 

The orphans grow and Peter sits by, quiet and beautiful and watchful, and Tony thinks--maybe they can heal. He talks in the lab and Peter grins at him, shadows of the boy from before, and he realizes abruptly--he doesn’t miss that boy. 

He loves Peter. 

Changed and scarred and so powerful it makes him shake--he loves Peter. 

 

~*~

 

Peter creeps into his room the day of the third anniversary of the Snap, the first he’d spent in the Tower, and stares at Tony. 

“I’m not going,” he says, softly, and Peter nods. He crawls into bed next to Tony and his hands shake and he is so slow it’s agonizing to watch. 

It’s been nine months. 

And Peter is still silent, still scared. 

“I love you, kid,” Tony breathes and Peter freezes for a moment, before he melts into Tony’s side. 

It’s comforting, and he clings to the quiet boy as the day spins and the sky darkens and another year passes. 

 

~*~

 

Nebula leaves. 

“You don’t need me anymore, Tony,” she says, and she smiles. “I don’t think you ever needed  _ me. _ ”

She flicks a glance at Peter who blushes and grins, and leans into Tony. He’s been doing that more--presing close even in the daylight, when monsters and nightmares don’t haunt them both. 

Tony likes it--more than he should, he thinks. 

“Where will you go?” he asks, and Nebula’s expression curls in, something lonely and sad, and she looks away, blinking hard. 

Peter detangles himself from Tony and goes to her, hugs her despite her stiffness and Tony tries to bite back how much it  _ hurts _ when he whispers, soft and low in her ear, too low for Tony to hear. 

She smiles at him, when he pulls away and says, “Take care of him, Stone Bearer.” 

Peter smiles, cocky sure and happy and winks, and she nods at Tony. 

He and Nebula don’t need any more words than they’ve already shared. 

She leaves, and he wonders, holding his boy close, if he’ll ever see her again.

He wonders where Peter sent her. 

“I hope she’s happy,” he whispers, and Peter squeezes his hand. 

 

~*~

 

Peter laughs, sometimes. Most when they go to the Orphan’s Farm, and the kids pile on him, heedless and uncaring about the color skating under his skin and shifting in his eyes. 

Tony misses his voice. Misses the way he stumbled over his words when he was excited or nervous or flustered. Misses the way he talks too fast and high, desperate to get out his thoughts, his eyes sparkling as he spoke. 

But he laughs, and he curls into Tony’s arms when they sleep and he pets the bots, soft and affectionate, when he comes into the lab and Tony sees Strange watching, and he thinks--

They’ll be ok. 

 

~*~

 

The first time he kisses Peter, it’s after Loki and Thor announce the new prince of Asgard’s impending arrival. 

Peter laughs, delighted and Strange smiles, small and pleased and draws Loki into a hug. “I am so happy for you, Mischief,” he murmurs and Peter hums his agreement. They whisper like that, the three of them together, heads bent towards each other, a little world that he can’t ever be a part of and he sees it, suddenly. 

“Thank you,” he blurts and Strange blinks up at him. Loki is smirking and waiting and Peter--Peter watches, his head tilted and curious. 

“I never--I never said that. Never said thank you. But you--both of you--protected him, when I couldn’t. I--even if this is as much of you as we get back, Pete--I am so grateful.” He stumbles over his words and shrugs. “Thank you. Thank you for loving him.” 

Peter makes a low hurt noise and comes across the room to burrow in his arms and Tony lowers his head, kisses his soft soft hair. “I am so glad you’re home, baby. I missed you so much,” he says, something he’s never said before, something that’s always been assumed, known, but never spoken. 

Peter whimpers and tilts his head up, and it’s easy. 

So very easy. 

To kiss him. Soft and gentle, like a warm wind blowing across the Tower balcony. Peter tastes like strawberries and mead and electricity. Tony moans and kisses him hard and deep, his hands impossibly gentle as they hold Peter close. 

He smiles a little, and Peter blinks up at him. Dazed and happy. 

His voice is low and hoarse and broken, when he speaks. It’s the most beautiful sound Tony’s ever heard. 

“Tony,” Peter whispers. 

 

~*~

 

The world ended. 

And they put it back together. Not quite right. There were broken pieces,  _ missing _ pieces, sharp edges that still drew blood. But Peter is tucked in his bed, sleepy and warm and the stones shimmer under his skin, and Tony thinks--this isn’t losing. 

It’s winning. They won. They win every day, a few degrees at a time. 

 


End file.
